But what is he really?
He's like the birds chirping in the morning. Sweet and cheerful always ready for a new day. He is the sweet glow of the morning sun through the curtains. He is the the luminous dash of blue across the grey sky. He is forever young and wild no matter how much time passes by.
He feels like a cool breeze on an otherwise sunny morning. He feels like big jumpers that cascade past your hands and encase you in a reassuring sense of security. He is the feel of tall grass against your legs when running through a field; ticklish and playful. He is that feeling you get when you jump up on a trampoline and gravity means nothing.
Dick Grayson will forever be a dark past with a bright future. He will be the golden boy who screwed up way to many times. He will be there when who you need most is not.
But..
He is more than just warm smiles and cozy hugs. He more than just the boy who frees himself from the weight of the world by jumping from his problems the same way he does on high poles.
He is also the smell of a grave hidden behind sweet smelling cologne. He is also blood red cheeks caused by a flood of tears, but instead look rosy in the sunlight from to much laughing. He is also long sharp, dangerous wounds that look like art you find in museums.
That mysterious laugh you hear is him. The narrow escape of trauma and the comfort that even if any thing is not fine now, you don't need to let it affect you negatively. He is what they mean when they say everything will be okay.